Lackadaisical
by PBCiMoA
Summary: Prompt: Blaintana. Weddings.
1. Violable

(A/N: Ok this is my first anon prompt, and as such I couldn't ask for clarification (namely if you wanted them getting married or just them at weddings), nor can I actually indicate to the person that I'm posting it, but whoever it was, I hope it is satisfactory and that you see it. Also I don't own anything.)

* * *

Santana never imagined she was going to have a wedding like this. She never really imagined a wedding at all for herself. She imagined a future with Brittany sometimes in high school, and then later with Sarah, and sometimes with abstract, perfect women she had yet to meet but they were always just a presence; there was never a wedding, she wasn't even sure if they were married in the fantasies. Marriage was just never a big part of her plans. It's just a piece of paper.

If she had imagined her wedding there are plenty of things about her current situation she knows she never would have expected. She didn't expect to be pregnant or twenty four and she certainly didn't expect to be looking down the aisle at Blaine Anderson.

She's known Blaine Anderson is gay longer than she's known his name and he's known she was since he first saw her and Brittany and cornered her alone to tell her he was there if she ever needed to talk. She had almost punched him then. It seems ridiculous for them to get married and trying to explain it to anyone is impossible, as they've both learned since announcing the engagement. They're not beards, they've both been out for years; Blaine is closing in on a decade now. They're not in love.

Blaine has thought about weddings. She's seen Kurt's old wedding scrapbook too many times to count and most of it was all Kurt but there are little bits and pieces in it that have Blaine written all over them, fewer now that Adam has been the prospective groom for years, but enough to know he's built something up in his mind.

It's not big, but it's fancier than she expects for herself. Blaine's parents didn't come, and she's not sure if Blaine is happy about that or not, even with everything she knows about him now, his feelings about his parents are still kept closely guarded. Cooper is there though, standing right next to Blaine, and he's been shifting focus and pulling attention away every time they get frustrated with all the questions. Cooper is obnoxious and crude and he has no sense of proportion, but he jumped on a plane the minute Blaine said the word wedding and he took one look at Blaine's face and was completely convinced that Blaine knew what he was doing.

Cooper _approves_ and it doesn't matter that she's spent the past five years telling Blaine he doesn't need his family's approval, she can't help but be thankful to Cooper for giving it.  
"I'm marrying Santana because there is no one in the world I love more and in every vision of the future I have, she is the only constant." It sounds nice but it only convinces Mike out of the New Directions and Blaine's side of the nice but small venue is full of people he's met since he came to New York, mostly other performers, all of whom have just assumed at this point that he is either bi or still partially closeted. Her side has Brittany and her parents, who frowned when she told them and still don't understand but are choosing to support her and her mother has been smiling and snapping pictures all day.

They're not promising fidelity or exclusivity, they're swearing loyalty. All of their friends keep calling and telling them they're making a huge mistake and Santana hasn't answered her phone for three days because she's sick of repeating that they're both adults and they know what legally binding means. The thing about the term 'huge mistake' that keeps being thrown around is that even if it was a mistake, and she refuses to allow for that possibility because if they don't know the reasoning they don't get to make that judgment, they're not making a huge anything. They're not even making a huge commitment. Everything they're about to swear in front of a group of their family and friends, they already swore to each other years ago. Today is just about the piece of paper.

* * *

It starts with a card lying innocently on top of the pile of mail Santana brings in, thick off-white paper with flowing script and at first glance it looks like a wedding invitation. It isn't. It's a short note and she doesn't have to read the name to know who it's from. They only know one person who would send a moving card this fancy, hell, who would send one at all, like any of them send actual letters.

On any normal day she would flash the card at Kurt and watch him stutter and blush and assure Adam that things are over, something Adam only ever doubts when Kurt tries to reinforce the fact. The day the card arrives isn't normal though. Brody is back and apparently now works for an actual caterer and Adam and Kurt have been flirting unusually obnoxiously over the funky smelling meat substitutes that comprise the Bushwick loft dinners and Rachel has gotten cast in something that promises to be the worst stage production to take place on a New York stage judging by the trite dialogue that is more or less constantly echoing off the walls so when Santana hears the jaunty whistling that means Adam is getting an early start to his day she dumps the rest of the mail on the table and slides back out into the hall, tapping the address into her phone's GPS as she descends the stairs.

When she finds the right door her back is facing Central Park. The card, still in her hand, says 19th floor, and craning her neck for a quick count, that's the top. She bites down the little stab of resentment because her dad is a freakin' doctor and even if he saved up every penny he got during his working life, he wouldn't be able to afford a penthouse overlooking Central Park.

The doorman, holy shit there's a _doorman_, looks at her like he's about to call the police and she sneers at him. He may work in some swanky building in Manhattan, but he's the doorman, he does not get to judge her because she hasn't changed after work. He halts her as she heads for the elevator and she has to wait for him to call up to 'Mr. Anderson' before he lets her pass.

It's barely six AM and Blaine has clearly just rolled out of bed as he opens the door in dark blue pajama pants and a white undershirt, she imagines he wears a matching shirt in the winter, but he manages a sleepy smile. "Hi Santana, it's been too long, it's lovely to see you. If I had known you were coming I would have told Jeffrey about you, I know he can be a little abrasive. Would you like something to drink?" She registers that he looks older, as though leaving high school instantly aged him. He's in better shape than he was at graduation and his hair is short enough that the curls are just curls, not frizz. He looks tired too. She wonders exactly how much people have left him to his own devices since she saw him at the start of summer because Blaine is never tired as long as there is someone for him to feed off of.

She almost asks for grape juice or something, just to see if he's still as accommodating as ever, if he'll pull on a pair of boat shoes and grab her some from the nearest convenience store. "I'm assuming you're making coffee?"

He smiles, almost like himself, as he leads her into a massive living room, huge windows stretching all along the wall facing the park and showing her the empty terrace. "Almost done brewing."

"Snazzy place Hobbit." The walls are all white, but there are paintings and photographs everywhere and a large brick fireplace. The massive dark brown couch and complementing, but not matching, armchairs are clearly chosen for comfort over style but they fit anyway. One side of the room is elevated slightly and it reminds her of the little stage in the Berry basement, but the only thing on the platform is a set of chairs that look much less comfortable but far more stylish, like maybe they came with the apartment, facing the glass corner overlooking the park with a small table between them.

"Thank you Santana."

She frowns lightly when he hands her coffee in a generic Starbuck's type disposable cup but doesn't comment, taking a sip to find he's already added her sugar and almond flavoring. She almost wants to look into the kitchen he came in from to see if he keeps and entire coffee shop in there in case of company or if he just happens to like the same flavors as her. Knowing him he might very well keep it there just for her. "So which room is mine?"

"What?" He blinks uncertainly at her and it's not like she planned to move in either so she can't blame him.

He covers his mouth and stifles a yawn, the third one now, as she responds. "Oh please, like I'm staying in the Bushwick Love Shack when my best gay has a penthouse by Central Park."

He looks genuinely sorry and she can't decide if it's because his manners say he can't kick her out or if it's because he's as lonely as he looked when he opened the door. "I'm sorry; I've only finished the master bedroom and the living room. I don't even have a kitchen yet. All the other rooms have been stripped completely. Not that you're not always welcome, but there is only one bed here...I guess the couch is yours if you need to get away? I mean I'd be happy to make up a bed for you once the rooms are done but I haven't even gotten started on painting yet." He yawns again.

"Tired, Hobbit?" He flushes, as if there had been any chance she hadn't noticed.

"I'm sorry, I'm being terribly rude. I've been having trouble sleeping, chalk it up to excitement I guess." He smiles again, that kind of smile that doesn't really mean anything, not forced or fake, just kind of bland.

"Go to bed Hobbit." His desire for sleep is clearly warring with his compulsion to be a gracious host. "I just got off a shift anyway." He seems to relax slightly at the indication that his guest wants to sleep as well but the twitching doesn't cease entirely.

"Were you planning on staying here?"

She almost says no, just to let him get some rest, but he clearly hasn't gotten proper sleep for weeks anyway. "Yup."

"Right. I have some spare pajamas, or if you'd prefer a t-shirt?" He's already moving toward another room and she follows him into his bedroom, and then into his closet. It's as huge as everything else in the building and everything in it is color coordinated and neatly pressed and folded or hung. Miss Pillsbury would be proud. He hands her a pair of pajama bottoms almost identical to the ones he's wearing but green instead of blue and a soft white t-shirt and directs her back through his room and into the bathroom (presumably also the only fully functional bathroom).

The bathroom is again lavish and strangely well organized. There are jars of hair gel and hand lotion all lined up, along with shaving cream and cologne (Armani, she notes idly), and a straight razor that should be more surprising than it is. She fights the urge to rearrange the various toiletries and turn them so the labels don't all line up and strips and steps into the shower instead. She sends silent thanks that Blaine doesn't feel the need to wash his hair with something that smells like forest or whatever it is men's shampoos are supposed to but never actually do smell like. It's sort of a vaguely apple like smell but mostly it just smells clean. She almost moans at the water pressure because she didn't even realize how much she missed that and she takes a longer shower than she's had since she left Louisville.

When she comes out the bedroom is mostly dark and Blaine looks more or less passed out. He's left the door ajar and probably set up the couch with a sheet and pillows for her but the thought of trying to sleep in the living room with the panoramic windows during the day is less than inviting, no matter how soft the couch looks so she just pushes the door closed, cutting off most of the light in the room.

The thing is that the lizard thing she told Brittany back in junior year, that she's repeated to one night stands a hundred times since then, it's kind of true. It was something she hid her feelings for Brit behind, but it was there. She's not a sex addict, but letting people think she is is a whole lot better than telling them she hates to sleep alone.

She's not sure what exactly makes her do it because she's slept in more uncomfortable positions before but she crawls onto the bed, placing herself where she's close to but not touching Blaine. She's not sure if it's her finally accepting his insistence over the past three years that he's always there, or if it's testing his boundaries to see where he will draw the line.

"Santana?" Even in the dim light of the sun peeking around the blackout curtains she can see his eyes focused too closely on her face, like he knows exactly why she's there, like he's always just _known_ with her.

"Shut up, your bed is made of clouds." He smiles, still not happy, but pleased at least and slings an arm across her abdomen, pulling her closer and even with only the thin sheet covering them she falls asleep with a constant mantra of 'too hot, too hot, too hot' running through her mind. She wakes up sweaty with the sheet at the foot of the bed but still too comfortable to get up so she lets her eyes fall closed again.

* * *

First chapter of probably five.


	2. Assailable

She wakes up again, alone in a massive bed, to the mingling scents of cologne coming from the bathroom and coffee drifting in from the hall. His hair is slicked back into its usual style when he hands her a new cup of coffee and the bright jeans and the fitted polo almost make him look like he always has. The tiredness has gone from his face but lingers in his gestures as he moves onto the terrace and settles on the wide railing.

"Thank you." He says it like she's given him something important and it makes her twitch because he always pulls the rug from under her, every time he opens his mouth. She's always found him a bit disconcerting because he is always in control, not just of himself, of his surroundings, and most of the time no one even seems to notice. He's so agreeable it's baffling how willing he is to do everything people tell him to do. He does it with a smile and he can concede every fight with something that looks so much like deference, like _submission_, and somehow still win the battle.

Now that they're both fully awake everything seems different. She made demands. She invaded his home, his bed, and his personal space and he allowed it. The ball is firmly back in his court whether he acknowledges that or not and he's taken what he wants in return. Santana is left with the uncomfortable feeling of being at a disadvantage that she grew so used to in his presence that it feels familiar still, after a year of barely seeing him. Whatever it is he's taking from her is more valuable to him than his home and she doesn't have to know what it is to be afraid of parting with it.

She knows she is one of very few people with the good sense to fear Blaine. He's too nice by half, but he knows he's too nice. A weak spot is only as weak as the armor you cover it with.

He's always willing to give more than he's asking for. It looks generous to the point of stupidity and entirely too trusting but it's not _trust_. Blaine is never caught out. He says yes to almost everyone almost all the time but he doesn't _trust_ them.

He trusts (trusted?) Kurt. It's strange to think about that relationship from his end because she knows Blaine has spent the better part of a year trying to earn back Kurt's trust, but she has no idea if Kurt ever regained his. She can't even be sure he knows he lost it in the first place. It's not like Blaine would have stopped obediently doing anything Kurt asked of him.

For Santana, dealing with Blaine has always felt like betting with someone who is willing to set diamonds against coal. Everyone assumes he is insane but he always walks away smiling and she can't figure out if he just knows he's going to win or if he knows something about coal she doesn't. It's exhausting to always be left wondering what he's actually taken. She hates feeling like she's playing a game where she doesn't know all the rules.

Blaine allows everyone around him some imagined advantage but he can only lose to someone he trusts, everything else is a tactical concession. It would be interesting to see which one would meet a demand from Kurt now. Could he still lose to Kurt?

He smiles at her like he hasn't disrupted the earth beneath her feet and she shakes the tension out of her arms, turning to face the sea of trees instead.

"So when are Trouty and Girl Chang getting here?"

"Tina is in LA and Sam is in Tennessee." She hadn't really been paying attention when they all went back for graduation. There was a kind of unspoken divide between the new graduates and the old, the broken relationships creating an uneasy space between them. She's surprised they all went different ways though; they had seemed disconcertingly close.

"Wheels?"

"NYU, I think he moves into the dorms next week." He gives her a sad smile before continuing. "Brittany is in Chicago; Mike helped her get a job at a studio, teaching little kids."

"Then I give up, who were you planning on shacking up with?"

"Why do you assume I wasn't planning on living alone?"

"You have six bedrooms." She's not even sure if that's true, she hasn't opened the doors but it seems like a reasonable guess.

"Maybe I just wanted the space."

"You hate space."

He raises his cup in recognition of her point. "Doesn't mean I don't need it." He takes one last look at the view and smiles at her and then he's gone, the glass door sliding shut behind him.

It takes her three weeks to move in, during which time the carpenter Blaine has hired has managed to construct a beautiful kitchen, but no real effort has been made to finish a bedroom. Officially Santana is crashing on his couch, but all of her things are spread out through his bedroom, not that anyone would know, considering no one else has come to visit.

Adam is the first to comment on the shift, the third time she comes back to the loft and grabs random possessions but he's easily silenced and doesn't question further when she tells him she found a warm body to entertain her. Rachel and Kurt are more invasive but she tells them even less. She still hasn't given the moving card back and it feels like a silent staking of claim somehow, even though she knows Artie will have gotten one and they probably know where Blaine lives by now. It doesn't take long for everyone to write it off as Santana being reckless again and they all assume she'll be turning up at their door again once whatever fling she's engaged in peters out.

Blaine eventually starts classes at NYADA and neither of them mentions how their sleep schedules rearrange themselves uncomfortably to where they can sleep together and it only takes a few weeks before Santana has found a discreet, classy jazz bar with live entertainment that's closer to the apartment and the day she puts on an elegant black dress and comes back from work before midnight he looks at her like she single-handedly hung the stars.

* * *

"9-4-3-7-8-1"

"What?" She knows exactly what those numbers are, how could she not? In normal cases this would be where she had to defend her snooping (usually in a fairly abrasive manner), but with Blaine all she can do is look at his smile and brace herself mentally.

"I noticed you looking pretty intently at the safe earlier. I figured I'd save you the trouble. It's mostly deeds and stuff, a few heirlooms and trinkets."

Every time she pokes her nose through a gap he throws the door wide open and it makes it harder and harder to step back and see the boundaries, even while he never crosses hers. "You just gave me the combination to your safe?" She can physically feel another piece of something crossing the table into his waiting hands and shakes her head and ignores the sensation.

"Were you planning on stealing something?" He's still smiling. He's always smiling. "Besides, if you're going to live here you might want to store valuables in there."

Snooping feels different when she's been given permission. She considers for a second that he might be bluffing but it wouldn't be at all like him to hold back so the click of the safe unlocking is entirely unsurprising. There are folders and binders with initialisms that mean nothing to her stamped along the spines and a number of boxes, wooden and velvet covered and she pulls out a rectangular box, flipping it open to reveal a pearl necklace.

"They were my grandmother's. She willed them to me, for my future wife." There is nothing in his voice when he mentions her, no fondness or bitterness or even sadness. It's a strange thing to hear from him. "You should wear them, I'm sure my future wife won't be offended."

"So your grandmother was...?" She isn't sure how to end the sentence. _Like mine? Like your father? Rejective?_

He shrugs. "I don't know. She died the year before I came out. To be honest she was mostly a check in the mail every year, I never really knew her. She lived in New York for most of her life though, and she took me to see my first Broadway show the one time I came to visit her so I like to think that she would have been accepting."

She allows the subject to drop in favor of reading the swirly golden letters embroidered onto the inside of the lid. "A thing of beauty is a joy forever..."

"_Its loveliness increases; it will never pass into nothingness; but still will keep a bower quiet for us, and a sleep full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing._" He drops into his performance space and she grabs the first thing in reach to pull him out. She has the constant need to keep his mind firmly in the room with her and he allows himself to be dragged back by her questions. She isn't even sure what she's asking if she's being completely honest, she just knows she won't let his mind wander.

"We don't borrow against our homes. It's one of the few things my family can agree on. _Never wager anything you can't afford to lose_." She isn't aware of having asked him about mortgages, but his answer is so like everything she's thought about him that she can't help but feel vindicated. It's a strange feeling of accomplishment that accompanies the confirmation that she's the only one who's always known she was losing.

It's no wonder his family is rich. She can't decide if his family's apparent lack of the subservience ingrained in Blaine makes them more or less dangerous than him.

* * *

It's close to Christmas when she finally goes a bridge too far. It's not even intentional, not really. She's done so many things just for the sake of testing him that the thing that finally makes him snap catches her by surprise. It doesn't even matter what prompted it. The second she hears him say the words "How could you do this to me?" she knows what's coming. She isn't sure if he does.

"Did you know that's the first time you've accused me of doing something _to you_?"

His confused look is the worst part because she's learned one thing since she moved in with him. He doesn't know he always wins, and that is why he always will. He doesn't even understand that what he takes from people isn't what they're offering. He's bartering on the terms he understands and he assumes everyone else knows what they're giving him. "What are you talking about Santana? I feel like I'm screaming at you every other week."

"Yeah, about all the things I 'just can't do to _people_'. You never stand up for yourself; you stand up for everyone else. It's like you're constantly going 'it's fine this time, since it was just me, but this isn't ok.' Never mind your parents, fuck them, do _you_ care about you at all?"

He deflates and sinks onto the bed. "I..."

"No, don't do that!"

"Do what?" He looks completely lost and she wants to scream at him because they're fighting according to his rules, the least he can do is look like he's happy about winning.

"Thank me. You're about to just chalk this all up to some life lesson I'm teaching you and let everything be fine. I read your diary. I fucked up your relationship. I still did all those things!" She just needs him to react like a normal human being for once in his life and not just forgive her and accept everything that happens to him. "You're allowed to be angry for more than five seconds Anderson. You're allowed to be pissed because I did it to you, not because it was a bitchy move in general. You're allowed to go out and get drunk and wail on a heavy bag and still not be fine!"

"Would any of that help?" He reaches out to grab her hand while she paces but she steps out of his reach.

"You know what yeah, it just might. You're so careful with everyone else but it's like you don't even know the meaning of the word boundaries. I showed up here out of nowhere, we weren't even friends, and I moved into your place, hell, into your bed and you didn't say a word to stop me." He refuses to understand that everything is fucked and she doesn't know how to deal with his brand of incognizance.

"What if I didn't want to stop you? What if I don't want boundaries? What if I just need you here?" He looks so tired, drained of everything but she still feels like he won. He watches her throw random clothes into an overnight bag with the most heartbroken look she's ever seen him wear and she almost cracks the mirror in the elevator with her fist as she screams and tries to stop herself from wondering what she's lost.

Adam opens the door to the loft when she knocks and silently brews her a cup of tea, smiling uncertainly at her as though she might take his head off if he asks her what's wrong.

When she walks back into their room he's sitting on the bed, staring at the bedroom door, looking for all the world as though he hasn't moved in the week she's been gone. She knows if she asks anyone they'll tell her he's been just as congenial and bubbly as ever. His eyes don't leave her for a second as she tucks her clothes into the hamper and changes into a nightgown. He barely blinks until she lets her head fall onto the pillows and he sags visibly with relief when she allows him to draw her over to his side, one warm arm coming to rest along her spine, fingers circling gently at the nape of her neck.

She lets the panic still coiling in her subside, convincing herself that whatever he took he can have. She falls asleep watching the fatigue drain from his shoulders.

* * *

(A/N: Believe it or not; when I outlined the plot, this chapter was light and mostly fluffy...)


	3. Inexpugnable

Sarah is an art student at Pratt. Blaine answers one of the flyers from some notice board at NYADA for models because he thinks it will help him 'become more comfortable in himself', despite the fact that he's never actually had a problem getting mostly naked in public before. Santana comes with him because standing around letting basement dwellers stare at her for a couple of hours every week sounds like easy money and it's not like she's doing anything in the middle of the day anyway.

Sarah is quirky and fun and falls completely in love with Santana's voice the first time she comes with a couple of the other students to the bar after a late class close to the end of term and it's nice. They have a lot in common. The sex is amazing and she hasn't even realized how much she's missed having something that's more than a one night stand.

* * *

When August rolls around and Blaine has put up with all of her shit for a year, never complaining and even thanking her for sticking around on the handful of occasions he's actually been the one in the wrong she tries to think of something to do. It feels like an occasion. She knows Blaine well enough to know that if she woke him up on the day with a cupcake he'd be touched enough to possibly shed a tear just because she remembered, but that is why the three aborted attempts at relationships he's had since she moved in have all seemed so one-sided and she's not going to let it be that way.

Sarah is sympathetic to her frustration but only able to contribute the supremely unhelpful advice of giving him something from the heart.

It turns out to be simple in the end, because it doesn't matter that she's only given herself two weeks to think it over consciously, she's had something rolling around in the back of her mind for months. Blaine wants a piano. Blaine has a piano, of course he does, but it's a small upright and she knows it's only there because that's what would fit in the elevator. She's seen how he looks at the grand pianos at his school or even the baby grand at Callbacks, and how he touches them. The Bösendorfer imperial grand in the round room he was allowed to play for the winter thing at NYADA clearly called out to him like a long lost lover.

He wants an imperial grand, and he's going to have one. She's wandered into music stores before, looking around at the huge instruments and mentally picked out the ones he would want, except she hasn't found the perfect one. If she had found one she would have just dragged him the three blocks down to the nearest snobbish piano store and had him flash his magic AmEx that he could probably charge her parents' house to and been done with it. None of the pianos are quite right though. They're all too...something. Most of them are too sleek, huge and imposing things, and they're not at all like Blaine who is compact and attention grabbing but never imposing, even when he's frightening (Santana has seen him angry too many times to subscribe to the common misconception that he's some kind of cute, harmless baby animal). Some of them are just too ostentatious, flashy and complicated where Blaine is just all personality, grabbing more attention the less he tries. One is covered in Swarovski crystals (she's only seen that one online), and she can't imagine anyone but Liberace looking comfortable next to it (maybe Unique).

The perfect piano exists, it turns out, and it's in Connecticut. She hasn't even decided on the piano thing, not really (because she's been looking for months and what are the odds she's going to find one before her deadline?), when she sees it on an auction website. She's browsing for a pair of earrings or something for her mother (her birthday is about a month away and leaving it until the last minute never ends well), but clicking the tab titled 'musical instruments' has become habit by now, just to see if something interesting pops up.

It's shiny and black and classy without the hard corners that made the 'modern'-style pianos too intimidating to fit Blaine, and without the flowery embellishments that made the others just too much. The first picture, head on with the lid closed is uninspiring, almost boring, but the angled shot, the one all grand pianos get (for good reason), has the lid propped up and on the inside there is an elaborate painting. It's mostly browns and golds and neutral enough that in the tiny thumbnail it could almost be just a distinctively patterned wood but the larger image lets her zoom and it's clearly some kind of modern art. It doesn't look like anything but it's pleasing to the eye.

She has to flirt with a truly repulsive crane operator and several not entirely repulsive men from the gym down the street but she manages to get the piano onto the terrace and into the living room before the inevitable phone call.

"Are you shopping in Connecticut?" She's surprised how long it took because the bank tends to be quicker to notice that Blaine is in several states at once.

"Yup." Technically she's in the living room staring at a massive piano and considering if she can be bothered to bring back a couple of the muscle heads because it would look better standing where the uncomfortable leather chairs are, and no one sits in them anyway.

She can hear his curiosity building. "Did you charge it to my card, because I have a pretty big unexplained charge coming through?" He says it like there is any way she'd believe he didn't ok the charge as soon as he saw the card number.

"Yeah." Her mother would be horrified if she knew, but buying the piano isn't the gift. Blaine spends weeks leading up to Christmas looking for gifts that will make everyone happy but shuns the concept of wish-lists. The perfect gift is finding the things they want and need without being prompted. Blaine wants exactly two things that he seemingly can't manage to get for himself, a piano and a decent boyfriend, and she's not about to go trolling Grindr for him. She mentally rolls her eyes at the disapproving face her mother would make and promises to bake the cupcake too, groaning at the realization that she's appeasing her mother's whims even when they're just in her head.

"Are you going to tell me what you bought?" He's expecting her to say something like she bought a car or a vacation and he doesn't manage to sound even remotely upset. He sounds exited. Blaine has the kind of casual disregard for money that comes only with having been born with it. He understands how to handle it, how to not lose it, but he can't fully grasp what it would be like to not have it and he can't think of a reason not to share it.

"Nope." She can feel him pouting all the way across the country.

"Can you at least tell me you love it and it was worth it?"

"Totally worth it."

"Ok. I'm flying back tomorrow, are you busy or do you want to go out?" He always offers to take her somewhere when he comes back because reunions should be celebrated, even when they've only been separated over a weekend. He's usually an ideal club partner as well because a sober Blaine is charismatic and magnetic, but a drunk one is just fun. Usually. That does not include when he's seen Cooper. They've seen each other twice over the past year, once when Cooper visited and once when Blaine was in Ohio and both times Blaine has settled into a kind of tense, happy exhaustion because he just doesn't know how to deal with his brother.

"You're going to be tired Hobbit, we're staying home with your uncle's whiskey and my mom's guacamole." She can drag him out to the new bar Sarah painted a mural at when he stops looking completely drained.

"Have I told you lately how much I love you?" She marks it down as progress that he doesn't try to insist that they should do something fun, something that she wants, but accepts her offer with a grateful, if slightly guilty, sigh.

* * *

The apartment looks like a home by now, no more empty walls or shelves, and most days it even feels like one, but it's the smell that really gets her.

New York smells horrible. No amount of love she has for the city can change the fact that if she found something in her room that smelled like New York it would be double bagged and dropped off at the nearest dump before she needed to take a second breath. Even Central Park, as massive as it is, isn't large or dense enough to keep out the city stench. At least in the winter the snow and cold seems to drown everything else, or maybe she just doesn't feel the need to be outside as often.

The smell of the apartment is what she'd miss the most she decides, burrowing into the still faintly warm pillow and taking in the comforting apple scent. The smells that have sunk into the walls by now, like the coffee and his cologne and her perfume and the odd mango scent that emanates both from the fabric softener Blaine buys from some weird hippie store downtown and the matching organic floor cleaner, and the day to day smells that can tell her within minutes of waking up what kind of day Blaine is having.

The smell of pancakes is something of a bad omen. Blaine can cook, mostly. He can fix them the basics and he doesn't burn anything but if they're being completely honest the fancy kitchen is wasted on them because they eat out most days and the meals they make at home are usually simple. Blaine's pancakes are amazing, but not quite good enough to make her forget what they mean.

In the first few weeks after the kitchen was finished Blaine had let it sink in that groceries were his responsibility, and been inexplicably thrilled by the concept. It had taken all of three weeks and an intense stomach ache to get the need to have breakfast foods for every meal out of his system and order a weekly fruit basket to complement the dinners from the take-out menus Santana handed him with a smirk. Waking up to the smell of pancakes instead of fruit salads means that Blaine has communicated with his family (usually his mother), and it hasn't gone well.

Pancakes mean anything from a few hours to a few days of Blaine being so forcedly peppy her cheeks have phantom pains just from seeing the grinning. Family is one of Blaine's sore spots. When Blaine has seen Kurt or Justin or Alexander or Jacob and remembers that all the men he's been involved with have moved on and are happy without him she can sit him down with old black and white movies and let him braid her hair or draw (surprisingly good) marker tattoos on her arms because he needs something to do with his hands and the piano only frustrates him if he can't stop shaking. When he's done something wrong in class or a performance she can watch him repeat it fifty times and tell him when he gets it right. When he talks to his parents she can just sit there because she still has no idea what's wrong.

They don't fight, not as such. The conversations are always cordial, bordering on pleasant. She knows his father was less than adept at dealing with his coming out, and from what she could tell by Blaine's end of phone conversations, dealing with most emotions. They always end with an 'I love you' though, which is more than she can say for her own family.

This time he doesn't say anything. He smiles and whistles a tune that becomes annoying before she's even sat down and he steadfastly ignores her knowing look. It takes her less than a day to figure out why he isn't saying anything, not even the awkward platitudes he likes so much. He's pulling away. She's leaving him and he knows it and he's extracting himself from her life so he can shield himself before she goes.

She lets him.

There's a voice at the back of her mind that tells her to fight it, reassure him that nothing will change and she'll only be moving a few blocks and they sing together several times every week but she stamps that out quickly. Of course things will change, things always change and once upon a time she couldn't imagine that she would go a week without speaking to Brittany or Quinn but now she's only vaguely aware of Brittany having moved on to LA and Quinn getting engaged to some guy from Yale and she didn't hear of either of those things from the girl in question first. She's not about to make empty promises to Blaine now because he's right. She's about to create distance between them that hasn't been there for a long time and if he needs this to prepare himself then who is she to stop him?

She even goes to sleep in the room that is ostensibly hers one night but she doesn't repeat the experience because they're not breaking up and if she could sleep in his bed when they were something like hostile acquaintances (although hostile didn't really describe his side of their high school relationship), she can sleep in theirs now. It's still her bed.

* * *

The first time they kiss Santana has tears streaming down her face and Blaine's shoulders are so tense it feels like his body is going to snap.

He's almost through his sophomore year and he's just as on top of everything at NYADA as everyone always knew he would be but somehow he's ended up alone. No matter how many times Kurt and Blaine say they'll always be best friends, and they say it every time they meet, there is always that huge neon sign flashing 'we used to have sex' between them and it's awkward for everyone so they stop meeting up alone and then it turns into some kind of delayed divorce where Kurt gets Rachel, and with her, their NYADA friends, and Blaine gets Santana and the NYADA underclassmen who seem to flip between sycophantic and resentful on a weekly basis. The polite letter from his parents, declining his invitation to the play he's been cast in, is still open on the table.

Santana's knuckles are bruised from where she punched a wall when the door to Sarah's ugly little apartment slid shut behind her because Santana is 'just too much'. Sarah, who Santana was almost ready to move in with. Sarah, who Santana spent countless evenings standing around in brightly lit galleries surrounded by insufferable hipsters for. Sarah, who wants to get back with Tom. It doesn't matter what Santana does, there will always be some guy who's better than her. It was Sam, then Patrick, now there was Tom.

'Some guy who's better than her' pretty perfectly describes the one sitting in front of the couch, back ramrod straight and not actually touching the thing, legs folded into the lotus position.

It can't be comfortable when she settles on his lap, straddling him and forcing his feet to dig into his shins but he just blinks at her and smoothes his thumbs over her cheeks, smearing the tears more than drying them because they won't stop coming. She crashes her lips to his and his shoulders sag with relief, his arms coming to wrap around her, not finding their usual comfortable position with hands resting lightly on her hips, instead folding around her, covering her back almost completely and dragging her so close her ribs are fighting his grip with every breath. Blaine needs physical closeness like he needs air.

There is no pooling of desire low in her stomach, no giddy butterflies or tingling lips and fireworks. There is the dizzying awareness of being Blaine's absolute everything. He needs someone to anchor him and he has complete faith in her to keep him grounded. Being needed like that is a heady sensation and in exchange for her presence in his life he gives her unqualified trust, the right to take from him anything she wants, including his so closely guarded control.

* * *

The shift in the power balance is tangible, at least to her. It's counter intuitive, how he finally takes everything he wants from her and it suddenly leaves her with the upper hand, but it's brilliant.

Blaine pulls back suddenly. He becomes less overwhelming, no less attentive, just calmer. Where he has been fighting to draw her in and pull her closer he now just holds on, trusting that he doesn't need to keep her there. Blaine has always been openly tactile, but his new fascination is bizarre. He seems so enamored by the mere fact that he's allowed to touch and it baffles her because, while she has never been as overtly affectionate as he is, she's never withheld contact. She's raised an unimpressed eyebrow on occasion when he's made valiant efforts to occupy the same space as her in bed, but she's never pushed him away or reprimanded him.

It's comforting to an extent, how he lets his fingers drag across her arm or shoulders when he moves past, reminding her of his presence, knowing he's reminding himself of hers. There is a sense of pride as well, because she earned his trust, completely and absolutely, without ever using the blind spot that is his romanticism. She won't deny the resentment she felt toward his paramours on occasion (Alexander in particular), because they didn't even realize they had something precious and they were just given it, because Blaine wants to be in love so much.

Blaine holds onto the people he loves with a suffocating fierceness until he's forced to let go and then he just blankly watches them leave. She knows, even if he doesn't acknowledge the change, that the way he lets his focus drop from her to his book, only giving her a distracted smile as she packs away various trinkets she doesn't want to remember anymore is the final sign. Even Cooper always leaves in the end.

He's put away his book and turned off his lamp by the time she's changed for bed and he's not waiting for her or watching her because she won't leave and if she does she'll come back. She crawls under the sheet and drapes herself across his chest, smiling into his clavicle as his hand comes to rest at the base of her spine.


End file.
